


Operation: Rescue

by orphan_account



Series: Operation: Rescue [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Human Trafficking, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Original villain - Freeform, Post-Bruce's Death, Rape, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:44:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick, Damian, Tim, and Jason have gone missing. In Barbara, Cass, and Steph's attempts to find them, they uncover a ring of human traffickers. Can they rescue the boys before it's too late?</p><p>(Chapter Four is explicit, describing some of the abuse of one of the boys. The rest of the sexual abuse happens off-stage. Each chapter switches from a different character perspective.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Barbara Gordon: The Detective

Barbara waited impatiently for the computer to reboot. She didn't know what else to do. The boys' comms and vital monitors had all gone off line. All the boys. Even Jason. And she couldn't figure out why.

She'd been asleep when it happened. Dick and Damian had made it back from patrol, so it was safe to go to bed. And then about three hours later she had woken up to her alarm going off. It had taken her a minute to really wake up and realize it wasn't actually an alarm, it was an emergency alert. She got out of bed and hauled herself to her computers without dressing. And that was when she saw that four of her eight monitors were offline. She had tried calling each of them--Dick, Tim, Damian, then Jason--but none of them had answered. So she had called Alfred, and thank god he had answered. 

He had sounded like she'd woken him up, but he didn't ask why she'd called. He told her he had seen Dick and Damian to bed, then gone to bed himself. Then he checked on them for her and told her they were in fact gone. He had no idea where they went, but he did say the rooms were in disarray and foul play was a likely possibility.

That was when Barbara started to panic. Because that meant someone knew who they were. Someone had targeted Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne knowing they were Batman and Robin. And they had done the same to Tim and Jason. An average kidnapper wouldn't have been able to find her monitors unless they knew what they were looking for. And maybe they might have thought a millionaire and his ward would be chipped, but no one would kidnap Jason Todd and think to look for a tracker.

"And is Cassandra there?" she'd asked Alfred

"Asleep like a kitten. I shall alert her."

Barbara had called Stephanie next, and she answered. Barbara hadn't felt relief like that in a long time.

Barbara guessed by Steph's voice and the change in heart rate that Stephanie had been sleeping. But Barbara didn't have time to apologize.

"I need you to meet me at the manor, now."

Stephanie had groaned. "Barb, I got in like three hours ago."

"I'll have Alfred get coffee. It's an emergency."

And she'd hung up.

She met Stephanie an hour later, each with a cup of strong coffee in hand, at the door to Dick's bedroom.

"I don't understand," Steph had said. "They should be able to defend themselves."

"Whoever took them got past top of the line security and caught them when they were half-awake. Our best hope is that they left evidence behind." Though Barbara considered it unlikely. Whoever these kidnappers were, they had already proven themselves way too good for that.

Alfred, Stephanie, Cassandra, and Barbara all scoured Dick's room and Damian's room, the entrances and exits, trying to piece together what had happened.

As far as they could deduce, the kidnappers had disarmed the security system in its entirety at 4:37. The security system had been reactivated at 5:04. So within 26 minutes, they had gotten into the manor, subdued both Dick and Damian, and gotten them out. At 5:42am, Dick's sensors had gone offline. Damian's went off at 5:43, Tim's at 5:45, and Jason's at 5:49. If kidnapping was a profession, these guys had to be the best of the best.

Barbara was now rebooting the computer system as a last ditch effort while Stephanie and Cassandra investigated the location that the boys' sensors had gone offline.

The computer blipped back on. She went through all the necessary security protocols but still, the vitals only displayed Stephanie, Cassandra, Alfred, and her own. She watched her own heart rate go up as she called Steph.

"Steph. I have you and Cass on site."

"Yeah, we just got here," Steph's voice came back through the computer.

"I'm accessing the local CCTV." Barbara pulled up what she could for Thirteenth Ave and Heatherow, but she couldn't see Steph. "You're in a back alley just behind the Heatherow building. I can't see you. I'm going to look at the cameras from 5:30 to 6:00am."

"I'm sending you video of the location now so you can see what Cass and I see. There's some ash but not much else."

"Take a sample."

"Yeah, I know. Cass has it."

Barbara could see Cassandra on Steph's video footage, in jeans and a hoodie, scraping ash into a vile. At eight in the morning, capes would've been an unusual sight, even if it was Gotham City.

In her other video screen of the CCTV, she watched a limousine pull up to the curb. Two men in suits got out of the back passenger door. They were followed by four more suited men, each one of those carrying exactly the people she was looking for. At least at 5:37am, they were still alive.

But from they way they moved, they had to be drugged.

One more man got out. He looked back in the car, spoke with someone else, and emerged from the car with a white sheet.

The limousine pulled away, and the man with the sheet disappeared behind the Heatherow building.

Barbara waited anxiously until the limousine pulled back around the block at 5:50. Five of the seven suited men got Dick, Tim, and Damian back into the car. She panicked for another minute until Jason finally appeared, carried between two men. His head hung to the side and she saw blood trickling down his cheek. She bit down on her thumb.

"Barb? Barbara are you there?"

She snapped back to attention. "Sorry, Steph. I was watching the CCTV footage. Find anything else?"

"Yeah, I got some blood. It's one drop. I'm guessing they missed it when they were cleaning up."

"Okay. I'll run the plates on this limousine. It's kind of conspicuous for a kidnapping, so that might. And I've got seven faces to run through the database. Bring the blood sample and the ash."

"Sure thing. See you in twenty."

Barbara had a feeling she already knew what she was going to find in the ash. Cotton fibers and bits of broken metal. That sheet that didn't make it back to the van, probably to collect blood while they cut the monitors out of the boys, and then whatever was left of the monitors.

She wanted to hope that the plates and the faces would lead somewhere, but she couldn't bring herself to be that optimistic. Everything else about this kidnapping had been so perfectly executed, she didn't think that they would slip with something as big as license plates on CCTV.

Sure enough, when she ran the plates, they belonged to a 2002 Ford Explorer, registered by a Mary Owen, who lived in a small apartment on the north side of Gotham, and owned a bridal shop on the corner of Fifth and Broadway. No history of crime, no relatives in crime, except for a cousin in Blackgate, doing time for a car jacking. In Gotham, it would have been far more suspicious if her family was completely spotless.

It was a completely dead lead.

Barbara had more hope in the faces. She got the best images she could from the CCTV and let the computer match them. It would take her hours to do it manually, even if it would be more accurate. While it was running, Cassandra and Stephanie came back.

Cassandra opened up her backpack and took out several vials of the ash and a tube with a red-tipped cotton swab sealed inside.

Barbara took the blood sample. "I'll run this while you guys get one of those vials of ash under a microscope?"

Cass nodded and Steph followed her. Steph was clumsier and less detail-oriented when it came to the scientific side of detective work, but she always observed when she could. Usually it unnerved Barbara to have Steph looking over her shoulder all the time, but it never seemed to bother Cass.

Their analysis of the ash proved to be exactly what Barbara expected: cotton fibers and metallic bits. The blood sample belonged to Jason.

The way Cassandra's hand tightened on the edge of the desk and her eyebrow increased in worry told Barbara exactly what she was thinking.

"I'm sure he's fine," Barbara answered, but she sounded more confident than she felt. "They want the boys alive, or we would've found bodies not ash. I just wish we knew what they wanted."

She got her answer as soon as the computer was done running its comparison of the seven suits to its database of criminals and world leaders. Five were a hit. Two didn't match. But the five names were enough to tell her exactly what was going to happen to her brothers.

Anton Bolkovich. Russian mob. Suspected of trafficking children and women in from Russia.

Stephan Bolkovich. Anton's son. Probable partner to Anton Bolkovich, but never enough evidence to bring to trial.

Derek Everett. Sentenced in 2005 for child pornography. Early release in exchange for names of his partners.

And lastly, Jordan and Taylor Drew. Known bruisers for Everett.

Barbara felt sick to her stomach. Steph looked just as queasy. Only Cassandra was completely unreadable.

"We have to find them," Steph said quietly. "Fast."

"I know. You and Cass will have to do field investigating. I'll do the rest from here. We need everything on these guys. Their recent contacts, recent business transactions, everything we can. And you guys--be careful. Don't let them catch you off guard."

And Barbara sent them out to do everything they could before nightfall, which was essentially gather names of contacts. Interrogations could happen after dark. She spent her time accessing phone records, police reports, FBI reports, and anything she could get her hands on about these five men.

She was so intent on her work, she didn't even hear Alfred until he was at her elbow.

"Ms. Gordon."

She nearly fell out of her chair. "Alfred--I'm sorry I didn't--"

"It is nearly three in the afternoon. You should eat."

"Yes. Yes, sorry, I should. Thank you."

"And do let me know when you would like to alert the police."

She nodded. "Tim's father already reported him missing. I don't want them to all be missing at the same time. It would be suspicious, to say the least, so let's wait until tomorrow on Dick and Damian." 

"Very wise. Shall I bring you a sandwich? And do remind Ms. Brown and Ms. Cain to eat."

"Yes, of course."

Barbara sent a text message to Stephanie's cell phone and went back to her own investigation. But it was so hard to focus. It was one thing to investigate a case for Batman, and look into criminal records to prevent a major crime. It was an entirely different thing when it involved the personal lives of people she cared about.

But she had to keep digging, and she had to trust that the boys could handle themselves. At least they had each other, she hoped.


	2. Selina Kyle: The Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selina Kyle finds the boys, but there isn't much she can do about it.

The party was in full swing when Selina Kyle slipped in through the side door of the ballroom. For tonight's thievery, she had traded her leather catsuit for a floor-length black evening gown. She did, however, keep a mask on. But this one didn't have cat ears, just whiskers. Masquerades were the only parties she bothered to attend.

Her victims were out in full splendor tonight. She loved when they showed off for one another because it meant she got a good look at their very best. She had already lifted a ruby ring from a man's fat fingers and a diamond broach from a woman when the hostess of the party made her appearance, near the doorway of the ballroom.

Selina had never seen her in Gotham before. Of course, the woman was wearing a mask, but Selina didn't judge people by their faces. She knew them by their prowl. And it'd been a long time since she saw a woman walk like she had that much power.

The woman's dress was short, black, and had metal affixed to her shoulders. She wore a silver belt and even her mask looked made of metal. Her hair was waist-length and enviably voluminous. Selina was intrigued.

"Welcome," the hostess said, "to the evening's main event. Go ahead and take one of the tickets now, and I'll introduce the items for tonight's auction. You'll all be very excited."

Selina did as the other guests did and took a small glass rectangle from one of the servers. It had a metal frame, and when she touched the glass surface, the numbers 1, 2, 3, and 4, appeared in a light projected though the glass. Virtual silent auction bidders. Interesting. Could be something worth snagging at the end of the night.

"All of tonight's lovely items are of course, one of a kind," the hostess said. "And all of them come straight from Gotham. It could be your lucky night to take home an exotic piece of Gotham's history, if you can pay the right price, of course," she smiled at her audience.

"Item number one."

Selina watched as the ballroom door opened and two suited men walked through, carrying a third man between them, dressed in nothing but Superman boxers. It took all of Selina's self-control to keep from running up there and rescuing him. She knew Bruce's boys anywhere, but in this crowd, what could she do?

So she watched as the men forced Dick Grayson to his knees, pulled his hand cuffed wrists over his head, and bent them backwards. They inserted a long metal rod through the chain, so Dick's hands were secured behind his head.

"Item number one weighs in 175 pounds and five foot ten. Exceptionally flexible and definitely knows how to take orders, if you have the right equipment."

The audience laughed like it was an inside joke. Selina could only watch in horror.

"Item number two."

And two more men in suits brought in the second item up for auction, wearing briefs. Jason. Selina bit down on her lip and took a step back in the crowd. Fortunately the party guests were all focused on the items and no one paid any attention to her.

"Item number two is a sexy six feet tall, weighing 225 pounds of pure muscle."

Jason was also forced to his knees and bound in the same way Dick was. He glowered at the audience darkly.

"This one has much more of a bite to him. As your hostess, I recommend a lot of binding, so be aware before you bid. And a reminder, we will not take any responsibility for damage done to you. Your safety is your responsibility."

Selina swallowed hard. She had never seen this coming. She had thought this was just a high-end party but this--this was wrong.

"Item number three."

Selina had to work to keep her breathing steady as they led out Tim, still in the wrinkled T-shirt he'd probably gone to bed in. He didn't look quite conscious.

"Item number three is in fact a minor. Just five-foot-five and 125 pounds, he comes in a bit of a lightweight. Those of you who prefer a more delicate touch would do well with him. I'm told he's obedient under pressure." She winked at her audience and moved on.

"Item number four."

Selina's stomach twisted. Please no, she thought. Oh, please no. But her worst fears were confirmed when Damian was dragged into the ballroom. He squirmed with everything he had until he too was forced into the same position as the others: on his knees, hands locked behind his head.

"Don't think I forgot about those of you with younger souls," the hostess teased. "Item number four is only ten years old, at 4 foot 6 and 84 pounds. Don't let his size fool you. He's as vicious as a cornered kitten."

Selina thought she was going to be sick. She had to do something. Someone had to know they were here. At as slow a pace as she could manage, to avoid drawing attention to herself, Selina made her way to the back of the ballroom.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the hostess said, "place your bets over the next hour. We'll reveal the winners then."

Selina got to the balcony as quickly as she could. It was empty. After a few deep breaths, she took her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed the one number she'd sworn never to call again.

"Ma'am," a guard interrupted her before she could hit the call button.

She looked up at him and frowned. "Yes?"

"Cell phones were supposed to be turned in at the entrance with your invitation."

"Oh, I must've forgotten I had it," she smiled.

"I'll need to take it now."

"I just need to call my husband real quick."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, I--"

"It's just that he's got a hold on my accounts. I need his permission to purchase what I want in the auction." She smiled sweetly at the guard and did not fail to use her large lips and bold eyelashes to sway his opinion.

"Yes, Ma'am," he consented, "but I'll need to take it right after."

"Of course," she said, and expected him to leave so she could take the call in private, but he didn't. He was going to wait for her. This was going to be harder than she thought.

She hit the dial button, and put the phone to her ear.

It was Oracle's voice that answered. She felt an unexpected pain in her chest. Of course Bruce wouldn't answer. Bruce was long gone. But still, she had hoped....

"Selina, this had better be good," Oracle was saying. "I don't have time right now--"

"Hi, honey, it's me," she said loudly, and leaned against the balcony.

"Selina? What are you--?"

"Listen, darling, I went to this party--I know you hate these charity fundraisers, so I decided to go while you were gone. But dear, I need a teensy-weensy favor from you." Please catch on, she pleaded silently.

"I don't have time for this. What in the world is going on?"

"There's a silent auction at this ball, and I know you just put some money into my account, but darling, I absolutely need this thing. And of course the money goes to a good cause."

"If this is serious--"

"Oh, yes, money for children. Orphans, probably. Those poor dears, you know they need all the help they can get." She kept her eyes on the guard, and while he was definitely listening, he didn't seem suspicious of her conversation. 

"Are you talking about the boys? Do you know where--"

"Dear, there's this fantastic item I know you'll love. It's an Arabian rug. Beautiful. It would match the dining decor perfectly."

"You know where Damian is?"

"Yes, dear, I knew you would love it." Selina let out an internal sigh of relief. Finally, she was getting through. "But darling, I just know I don't have enough to place a competitive bid on it, so will you please transfer more into my account?"

"I can give you a few hundred grand right away. More will take more time," Oracle said. "Are the others there too? If they're all there--tell me about your dress. If not, tell me about your jewelry."

"You want to know what I'm wearing? Dear, you're so inappropriate!" She giggled and winked at the guard. "I'm in that black dress you bought me for Christmas last year. The one with the silver embroidery, yes."

"I'm tracking your location, Selina. I need you to keep talking."

"Oh, darling, stop it." She giggled again. "Well, if you must know, I'm wearing those pink lacy panties I bought last weekend. Of course the bra matches. Pink with black lace, and the little heart at the center. Darling, why can't you be like this when we're together?"

"I just need a few more minutes. If the boys are alright, tell me about your shoes. If they're not, talk about your hair."

"Oh, just some black heels," she said. "They're not that fancy. My dress covers them."

The guard cleared his throat.

Selina sighed loudly. "Listen, darling, I really need to go. I'm sorry, dear, but they don't want cell phones at this party. It's very private. You know how they can get sometimes. I'll see you when you get home. Kisses." Selina made a big loud smooching noise into the phone and hung up. 

She instantly dropped all pretenses of affection and put up one of utter irritation as she looked at the guard. "Husbands are terrible. I'd do anything to get rid of mine. He's more like my banker than my lover." She rolled her eyes and dropped the phone into the guard's hands. "Thanks for being such a good sport." She kissed the guard on the cheek and walked back into the ballroom to bet every penny Oracle had given her on item number four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work was largely practice for developing the writing voice and character of each bat brat. Critique is encouraged.


	3. Tim Drake: The Hostage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim watches as he and his brothers are bought and sold like little more than pieces of art.

Tim took a deep breath and tried to clear his head, get his mind to focus. His memory was so hazy, but at least his vision was finally clearing up.

He'd gotten home from patrol like any other day. Slipped in his bedroom window, stuffed his cape under his bed, double-checked his homework, and fallen asleep: half of him on his pillow, the other half still hanging off his bed. He'd been awoken by a hand over his mouth. All of his training would have been helpful, and he did at least managed one good kick to his attacker's ribcage, but there had been a quick pain in his neck. He knew it was a tranquilizer before it even hit his bloodstream and he grabbed for the hand. He felt a wrist beneath his fingers and dug his nails into it, but his strength was fading too quickly and he lost his grip.

Tim had spent all of his efforts on staying conscious, and he felt like he managed it okay. He still remembered fragments of what had happened, faces he held onto so he could describe them to a sketch artist, cars but their license plates seemed fuzzy. At least he could still recognize familiar streets through the haze, and always knew where he was.

And he remembered seeing Jason first, and then at some point Dick and Damian. And that was when he really started panicking. The adrenaline rush had been enough to jolt him out of his half-awake state, enough to allow him to grab someone's arm, and he'd been promptly punched in the face.

He vaguely remembered them scanning for Oracle's tracers. A pain in his wrist where they cut them out. He watched Jason fight back and get hit over the head

He'd hoped that at least with the four of them all together, they'd be able to figure a way out of this. But he never quite got his motor skills back, or even full control over his brain. He remembered a lot of darkness. And then he'd been dragged into a room with a lot of light, shoved onto his knees, and hands locked behind his head.

At first, it had just been a lot of white, and some woman's voice shouting over it all. He had no idea what she was saying. Now it was starting to clear up as his body metabolized whatever it was he'd been shot up with. The room was crowded. A lot of people in suits, evening gowns, and masks. They all held these glass cards he couldn't figure out the meaning for.

Without moving his head, he tried to look to his right and left. He could see Jason and Damian, and was barely able to make out Dick on the other side of Jason. He opened and closed his fists, just to test his own mobility. He could feel his fingers. That was a good start.

"Jason," he whispered with as much movement as he dared.

Jason lifted his head almost imperceptibly.

"Can you--" But Tim didn't get to finish his question. Someone gripped his hair from behind and slammed his head against the metal pole between his wrists. His vision went dark for a minute. A hand tightened around his neck, just below his jaw, pushing into that space almost under his ears, forcing his mouth open by reflex.

His vision cleared up enough, though still spotty, in time to see a man in a suit standing to his left. The man put on a latex glove and then put two fingers into Tim's mouth. They didn't go in easy. The latex wanted to stick to his tongue, but the man forced it farther and farther in. His gag reflex kicked in, but it didn't help. It started in his stomach and his whole chest heaved, but the man pushed farther and farther down his throat. He couldn't breathe. His body convulsed desperately for air.

And finally, just when he was starting to feel light-headed, the man pulled his hand out. Tim gasped for air and let his head drop forward. He noticed the crowd watching him with a new interest. He didn't like the look they were giving him. A few of them touched something on their glass cards.

What the hell was this? An exhibition?

He was still wearing his pajamas. An old T-shirt and boxers. Jason and Damian also looked like they were dragged straight out of bed. He wished he could at least make eye contact with Dick. Surely by now Dick had some sort of escape plan ready. If they could only all communicate--

"Well, wasn't that a show?"

That woman's voice. He looked in front of him and saw her back. Long black hair, black dress with a silver belt. He couldn't make out any more.

"Any last requests before you submit your final bids?"

An auction. That's what this was. But was it all of them or individually? If they could stay together, they had a shot. But if they got split up, he didn't know if he would make it.

"Item number one?" the woman said in response to a question he didn't catch. "Of course."

Her heels clicked on the floor and she walked past Jason to Dick.

He heard Dick gasp and groan, but he couldn't see what was happening. He strained against the cuffs. He even saw Jason tense, but there was nothing either of them could do.

The woman walked back into Tim's line of vision.

"I did say he was flexible."

The audience murmured in assent. Some of them pulled out those damn glass cards again. 

Tim tightened his hands fists. There had to be something, some way out. Why was he in his pajamas? If only he had something to pick the lock with. He was never taking his gloves off again.

"Place your final bets," she said. "And as a reminder, if you do require additional security to pick up your item, you may claim your purchase at any time during the next four hours. Tranquilizers are available at an additional cost."

Tim pulled against his cuffs with everything he had, but in this position he had such limited mobility it did nothing but dig the metal into his wrists.

A man in a suit came forward and handed a woman one of the glass cards.

"Everyone ready?" She tapped the glass card. Tim strained his neck to see what was on it, but it was too small to read from that distance.

"Auction closed. Let's start with the youngest, shall we?" The woman turned around and looked at Damian. Tim wanted to beat the smile off of her face.

"Coming in at a--oh my--at $354,000, item number four goes to ticket fifty-seven. Speak with the guard here at the door when we're done announcing winners to claim your item or arrange a later pick up time. Please have your ticket with you."

Tim scanned the crowd, trying to see who had spent so much money for Damian. It couldn't be good news. But there wasn't anything for him to see. Just rows of disgusting men and women. A few looked disappointed.

"Item number three."

Shit. That had to be him.

"For $250,000, item number three goes to ticket number thirteen."

Tim watched the audience desperately, but all he saw was a man in the back of the crowd lift his champagne glass. He couldn't see a face. His stomach twisted, but he hadn't eaten in what must've been a full day. There was nothing to be sick with.

"And item number two, for $244,000, goes to ticket twenty-three."

Tim heard a woman squeal in excitement, but he couldn't see who.

"And finally, item number one. For a grand price of $526,001," the woman laughed. "An extra dollar for good measure did you well, ticket thirty-one. 

"Will the winners please come forward to claim your items? And, to the rest of you, thank you for coming. We don't want anyone to leave disappointed, so for the rest of the evening, your tickets will have access to our catalog. You can browse our selection of items for permanent purchase or we have items available for one time use. If you'd like to make a purchase, it's all on your ticket. Once you've made your purchase, show your ticket to any of our staff and they'll be able to help you from there. You will need to hand your tickets in at the end of the night. But for now, enjoy yourselves."

Tim tried to keep his breathing under control. He was afraid he'd go into a panic if he didn't. The woman walked past him and he twisted his head around to see her meet the four winners at the door.

Two men and two women. He knew Jason went to one of the women and he went to one of the men, but other than that....

One of the women looked over to them. Even though he couldn't see her face, her mask gave her away. She may not have had cat ears on, but the whiskers were enough for him. It was Selina. Definitely. But who had she bought, and why? She had to be with Oracle. Selina would never do something like this to them.

So this was good. Oracle must know where they were. At least for now. Tim felt a new resolve build in his chest. They had to stick together. It was their only hope.

But his hope didn't last long. One of the men stepped out of the ballroom, only to return minutes later with two security guards. He walked straight over to Tim.

Tim tried to fight, get away somehow, but he could do nothing other than what he'd already been doing. He could hear Jason struggle on his behalf, and he appreciated the effort, even if it was useless.

The guy who bought item number three--hell if Tim could think of himself, or any person for that matter, as an item--gagged Tim with a black handkerchief before he undid the handcuffs. Tim let his hands fall in front of him and tried to get to his feet, tried to get some ground to fight back, but the guards shoved his face into the ground. One held him down. The other tied his ankles together. Tim guessed by its thinness and the way it dug into his skin, it was simply zip ties. That wouldn't be too hard to get out of, if he got the chance.

His hands were rebound with the zip ties, behind his back, and he was flipped over onto his back. He got his first good look at his purchaser.

Probably in his forties, with hair just beginning to gray, and a thick mustache. Not built muscularly, but he looked like he tried to keep fit. He wasn't bulging out of his buttons, anyway. Tim scanned his memory for any corrupt politicians or business men, but he couldn't match a name to this guy's face. Which meant he probably wasn't from Gotham.

"Look at those eyes," the man said. He reached down and lifted Tim's shirt up. Tim tried to move, turn, anything to get away, but one guard held down his shoulders, the other his ankles. His purchaser looked pleased with what he saw under Tim's shirt and pulled it back down with a smile. He patted Tim's cheek. "You'll be just fine."

Tim was pretty sure he would not be "just fine" as he was lifted over one of the guard's shoulder like a sack of flour. He tried kneeing the guard in the stomach, and he got in a good hit, but the price was a slap in the face so forceful it made him dizzy.

"You will learn," the man said simply.

The last thing Tim saw as he was carried out of the ballroom was Selina Kyle, with an expression he'd never seen on her before. She looked apologetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is largely practice for developing the writing voice and character of each bat brat. Critique is encouraged.


	4. Dick Grayson: The Victim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick Grayson is doing everything he can to save his brothers, but he's helpless to save himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS EXPLICIT. RAPE/SEXUAL ABUSE.
> 
> It is also extra long. If you want to be able to stay on-track with the story, you can in-fact read this chapter and enjoy it without the explicit content. Just stop reading when they arrive at the motel, and you've got yourself chapter four. What follows is gratuitous and rather indulgent. But judging by your comments, I'm sure that's what most of you are looking forward to....

Dick Grayson: The Victim

Dick Grayson had been in a good mood when he'd gone to bed that night, for the first time in a while. The hardest part of Bruce being gone was night, when he had to bear the weight of Batman. During the day, he could be Dick Grayson, and even though it was hard without Bruce, he could do it. He could be an older brother-not-quite-father to Damian. He could go to charities and balls without really thinking about it. As long as he could be himself, he was fine. But it was when he put on the cowl that he felt the weight of losing Bruce.

But last night, the cowl hadn't felt too heavy. Last night he felt like he was finally getting to a point where he could say he really was Batman, not just filling in for Bruce. Of course, his family was the best help he could ask for to ease that transition. Alfred's encouragements, Barbara's kind criticisms, even Damian's less kind criticisms helped bring him closer and closer to a place where he felt okay about being Batman. And that night, when he'd gotten back, said good night to Barb and Cass, and good night to Damian and Alfred, and collapsed into his bed, for the first night in months he'd thought, "Maybe I can do this."

He definitely could not do this.

Dick pulled against the handcuffs in vain, and watched Tim vanish behind the large double doors. He gritted his teeth together. There was no way he could do this. He couldn't watch his brothers be auctioned off like items and be forced to sit still while they were carried off.

He'd picked Selina out of the crowd early on. She walked like a predator stalking prey, and he'd chased her across rooftops for enough of his life to know that walk. He hadn't understood why she was there, but she was his best hope at getting Tim and Damian out safely. Because if he was really honest with himself, the last thing he worried about was what happened to him and Jason.

It really wasn't about not caring what happened to Jason. It was about knowing Jason could handle himself in any situation, no matter how bad it got. Dick could take responsibility for himself and he trusted Jason to do the same. It was Tim and Damian he felt responsible for.

But all he could do as Tim disappeared was memorize the faces of the men he went out with.

Selina looked his way, and he could see the apology in her eyes. He knew exactly what it was for. She wanted to save all of them and she hadn't been able to.

If he knew Selina, she would've bought Damian, and gotten whatever information she could to Barbara. Selina wasn't heartless by any means. Even if he hadn't talked to her much since Bruce died, he knew she wouldn't stand by while this happened.

Sure enough, Dick felt relieved when she walked over to Damian and undid his handcuffs. Dick knew exactly what Damian wanted to do, and as soon as he caught the boy's eye, he shook his head slightly.

He watched Damian's hands tighten into fists. But there was no way, even if Damian managed to get him free, they could take on this entire party. But Dick had a plan. At least, a half a plan.

"Get Tim," he lipped.

Damian hesitated, but he knew the boy understood. He just didn't want to listen. Finally, he nodded, and walked out with Selina. They had plenty of time to catch up with Tim and free him. And that should give Oracle and the girls good leads to finding him and Jason.

The woman in black with the silver belt and metal on her shoulders watched Selina and Damian leave with a suspicious look. When she looked back at Dick, he tried to keep his face concerned.

Dick had never met this woman before, but he'd seen her face her face before the party and recognized her. Amunet Black, or Blacksmith. Used to run the black market in two different cities before The Flash finally shut her down. She was good, but there was no way she'd arranged this whole thing.

She walked over to him and looked down smugly. He looked up defiantly.

"I know who you are," he said.

"And I know who you are," she leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "little Bat." She seemed satisfied with the discomfort that settled on him and pulled away with a smile. "But I didn't tell. Could've gotten a lot more money, if I did. But I didn't."

"You're after power."

"Oh, look at you. World's Greatest Detective and everything. Cute. But correct. Power. Gotham has the most organized crime in the world. If I control the market here, I'll own half the world."

Dick felt like it was the right moment for something cheesy, like, "You'll never get away with this," which would have been appropriate, but pathetic given his position. And so he fell back on his life-long usual: really punny quips.

"Sounds like a real steel."

Blacksmith didn't look amused. Instead she turned to Jason. "You were the real trouble." She twisted her fingers in his black hair and pushed his head back. Dick pulled against his cuffs for the hundredth time that night. Jason glared up at her with bared teeth.

"You're the one who kept murdering my henchmen. Replaceable, yes, but hard to find good ones when half the town is crazy and your best options keep getting gunned down."

Jason's glare twisted into a vengeful grin. "I can be pretty awful when I want to be."

She laughed. "Good luck." She leaned in close, the way she had with Dick, so he could no longer hear what she said. But he watched her run her metal nails down Jason's side. Jason gritted his teeth. As blood pearled in droplets along the fresh red stripes down Jason's skin, Dick knew he had to do something to distract her.

"If you want us off the street, why not just kill us?"

It worked. She let Jason go and stood back up. "Because if I kill you, you become a martyr. Someone else will take up your legacy. But if I can make you disappear, spread rumors, well, there's nothing in the world more powerful than that. Maybe in three months time, when you're all well-trained whores, I'll advertise what I did. Whatever it takes to be the most powerful person in Gotham." 

"But this isn't like you. Who are you working with?"

She smiled, but didn't give him an answer. Instead she turned to the door and Dick strained his neck to get a good look at who she was smiling at.

Dick knew that face, too. Derek Everett. Early thirties, and considered attractive by most magazine covers, before he went to prison. He'd been a CEO until he was jailed for distributing child pornography. He was eventually released for giving out plenty of information on his partners, and Dick suspected a lot of money was given out as well. Everett was flanked by three guards and his stomach sank. He knew they were for him.

Blacksmith left Dick and greeted Everett with a professional handshake. "You've got everything ready?"

"Yes," Everett smiled. "My men are prepared."

"Good. And let me know when you've finished training him. I might want to borrow him once in a while. He'd be excellent at parties."

"For a price, of course."

Everett and Blacksmith laughed like it was some sort of joke. Dick thought that if he had eaten at all today, it would be on the floor.

One of Blacksmith's men approached her with a cell phone in hand. "One of the clients," he said.

She smiled apologetically at Everett and took the call. Everett and his men walked over to Dick.

Dick kept eye contact with Everett as the guards removed the metal pole behind him, but did not unbind his hands. They didn't even let him move them. His arms were kept in that ridiculously useless position of stretched up and bent back. Dick tried to squirm, fully aware that Everett was studying his every move, but he was squished between two of the three guards and couldn't do much.

One of the guards pulled a collar around his neck, and once it was snapped into place, they let his wrists go. As soon as Dick tried to move them, he discovered why. The handcuff chain was fastened to the collar, so if he pulled on his wrists, he was ultimately choking himself. Damn.

"What, children aren't good enough for you anymore, Everett?" Dick spat.

"Children were never a pleasure. They were easy money. You, on the other hand, will be fun." Everett glanced around the room. It had maybe half of the initial party guests, still chatting, eating, and browsing the catalog. "Within a month, you'll be at these events, and you'll get paid to do whatever is asked of you. Understand?"

Dick highly doubted that. But he said nothing either way and let his eyes speak for him.

Everett shoved a foot into his chest and pushed him down onto the ground. Dick grunted as his back smacked the hard tile floor. At least his head was cushioned by his wrists. Though he thought maybe his shoulder had been popped out of place.

Everett pushed harder on his chest, threatening to crack his sternum. "When I ask a question, you answer. Yes, sir, or No, sir."

Dick gritted his teeth and waited. The weight got heavier and heavier. He waited just until he was sure his chest would cave in, and choked out, "Yessir."

Everett took his foot off and Dick gasped for air. The expansion of his chest hurt against the new bruise. He tried to breath in a more controlled fashion after that. But then Everett's foot slammed into his groin. Dick groaned and curled up into himself. He drew his knees to his chest and tried to roll away, but instead he was hauled to his feet.

He forced the men to half-drag him out of the ballroom. He used the delay to get one last look at Blacksmith, who appeared to be in a heated argument with her cell phone.

"What happens after the exchange is your responsibility, as I've said numerous times. I can't just refund every damn--"

The ballroom doors closed behind Dick Grayson, but he felt lighter than he'd felt all night. Tim was safe. He had to be. Tim and Damian were out, and all that was left was him and Jason. He could do this.

Dick was taken in a car to a dingy motel in the heart of Gotham. He was kind of surprised. He'd expected something a lot classier than a motel with peeling paint and a neon sign that lit up only the last two letters. But then he saw the perks of it, for a guy like Everett. The person at the front desk didn't ask two questions when he saw Dick, even though Dick was cuffed, collared, and in his underwear. He just handed Everett a key and tried to look busy.

When they reached the motel room, Dick was unceremoniously dumped onto a bed that smelled strongly of bleach. He hoped that meant it was at least clean.

Everett opened the nightstand drawer and took out a large black box. It didn't look like something that came with your standard hotel room.

The two guards stripped Dick and secured his ankles to either corner of the bed, left the rest of him as it was, then took their leave.

As soon as they were gone, Dick sat up. There had to be a way to take down Everett and escape. He just... couldn't move his arms or legs. That didn't leave him very many options.

"Lie back down." Everett said without looking up from the black box.

Dick didn't move. He was too busy inspecting the ties around his ankle. His rebellion was twofold in purpose. One, he just didn't want to do whatever this asshole told him. And two, if he could make Derek angry, he was more likely to make a mistake, and Dick would be ready to take advantage of it.

Everett took off his suit jacket, laid it on the table, and put on leather gloves. "I said lie down."

He stood at the end of the bed and pushed Dick down onto his back with his hands. Not too hard, but he made sure to put pressure on the flowering bruise, right on the center of Dick's sternum. Dick winced with the pain but refused to make a sound, even when Everett pressed the heel of his hand into Dick's chest.

When Everett was done pushing on Dick's bruise, he pulled on the young man's hips towards him, forcing Dick's knees to bend. Dick fought back, tried to pull away, but Everett was prepared and forced a hand down on Dick's hips, hard enough that he couldn't back away.

There was no warning for Dick. Before he was aware of exactly what was happening, it was happening. Everett's gloved hand was shoving its way inside him. He twisted, tried to get away, move, turn, but Everett held him still and stretched out his skin.

Dick had never experienced penetration before, and the feeling of leather on untouched skin was a sensation he wasn't aware of until now. And he wished it didn't feel as good as it did. He also wished it didn't hurt as much as it did.

"Gotham's number one bachelor, still single," Everett said as if it were casual conversation. As if he didn't have half his hand stretching out Dick's ass. "I was convinced you were fucking someone in the closet, but you're behaving like quite the innocent."

Dick gritted his teeth and turned his head away.

"If I'd known, I could've priced you at double for a virgin. You should've said something."

Dick's only response was to gasp and groan as Everett firmly ran three fingers inside him. He felt them brush across something sensitive. His back arched and he felt it in his cock, that pleasure he was familiar with from other activities. The rest of this experience, however, was new.

It was a mix of pain and reluctant pleasure as Everett fingered him. Most of it hurt--the leather on his skin, the stretching, the tearing. But then part of it felt good. The touch, the sensitivity. And no matter how much Dick wished it wouldn't, his body responded to the pleasure as much as the pain. His chest heaved, despite the bruise, and his back arched into Everett's touch. His groans of pain were littered with moans of pleasure despite what he wanted.

"That should be enough," Everett said, and pulled his hand away.

Dick's chest trembled from the exertion as he tried to get his breathing back under control. He closed his eyes, tried to focus his mind back on the present, back into something more concrete than the war between pain and pleasure happening in his groin. But everything else felt dead, stiff. He couldn't find the will to move his body.

And then it wasn't actually over. Everett pushed something else inside him. His eyes shot back open. This was bigger than Everett's hand and it hurt far worse. His body tensed, tried to force out the intrusion, but Everett kept pushing it in. It hurt, stretching him around and stretching him out. His tense muscles only made it worse, but he couldn't relax. He tried to arch himself off the bed, move away from the pain, anything. But Everett kept pushing it in.

Finally, the movement stopped, but it was so far inside him, Dick still couldn't relax his body. He stayed tense, his muscles coiled tightly around whatever it was. Which turned out to be bad, because it started vibrating.

Everett had shoved a fucking vibrator up his ass and damn him, Dick's cock responded positively. Dick gasped for breath and lifted his hips. This was a different sort of pleasure. Still unwanted, but harder to fight.

"Lie still."

It was one order Dick wanted to obey. He forced himself flat against the bed, gritted his teeth, and turned his cheek into the mattress. He could feel himself growing harder.

"Pay attention to what I'm going to say. These are your first lessons."

With all the self-control he could muster, Dick opened his eyes and looked at Everett. "Sex ed, is it? Pretty sure it's illegal for you to be a teacher. Something about not being allowed within a mile from a school."

Everett did not look amused. He rummaged through his box. He pulled out a small black rubber ball and shoved it in Dick's mouth.

"Bite down on it," he said, but Dick spat it out.

Everett picked the ball back up and set it on the table. This time he pulled a cock ring out of his box and tightened it around the base of Dick's cock. 

Dick winced as he pulled it tight. "If you think you can--"

But this time Everett shoved a complete ball gag into his mouth and tied it off.

"Your mouth always did give me a headache, Grayson. Now, listen." He put a hand on Dick's shoulder. "Being cuffed like this, with the arms above the head exposes the torso." He ran his gloved hand down Dick's chest lightly, like he was touching the keys of a piano without playing them. "This creates open space for your client to work with." He pinched Dick's nipple and Dick groaned, tried to twist away, but Everett pushed him flat against the bed. 

Then Everett reached between his legs and Dick felt the speed of the vibrator increase. He pressed his head against the mattress and whined. He wanted to scream.

"Get used to it. I want you to be able to service up to ten clients a day and you can't do that if you come all over yourself every time."

Dick glared darkly at Everett. It was a pathetic attempt at defiance. His wrists were bound to a collar around his neck. His feet were tied, spreading his legs open. There was a vibrator shoved up his ass, and to top it all off he had a damn cock ring on to keep him from a complete orgasm. A glare was hardly significant, but it was all he had.

"As I was saying about your chest, open it up and expose it. Keep your arms above your head. Most clients will not need you to touch them. Your job will be to be the most attractive thing for them to touch. Keep your arms up and your legs spread, and that's about 75% of the service you'll ever need to do."

Everett took his hand off Dick's chest and removed his gloves. Dick watched him as he walked back to the table, closed the box and replaced it in the drawer. 

No, no he couldn't just leave him like this. Dick tried to shout, not that he could say much of anything against the ball gag. Just generally make noises of protest.

"What was that?"

Dick glared at Everett and jerked his hips in frustration.

"Oh, yes, the batteries will run out eventually, I'm sure. In the mean time, enjoy yourself. I'll be back for your next lesson in the morning. If you behave, you'll get breakfast."

Dick could only stare in disbelief as Everett left the small motel room. This was bad. Really bad. He had to get that cock ring off. Surely, Everett knew the consequences of leaving one on for too long.

Dick twisted his wrists to grab the strap of the ball gag. There was no getting it off, but if he could just move it, that might be enough. He managed to pull and twist so the ball was pressing into his cheek, which gave him limited movement of his tongue and lips. Hopefully limited was enough, because if he couldn't get his hands free, there was only one way this cock ring was coming off. Thank god he was so flexible.


	5. Damian Wayne: The Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian's ready to hang all the morals his father and Dick have taught him if it means saving his brothers.

Damian Wayne fought off the reflex to shiver as he stepped outside with Selina Kyle. She kept her hand tight on the back of his neck, pretending for all the men in suits that stood outside the building. He could tell by the unnecessary tightness of her grip, she was also trying to keep him from murdering any of them.

They arrived at the street just in time to see Tim Drake locked into the trunk of a rather large black car. Damian moved forward, but Kyle held him back. "You don't go anywhere without my say-so," she said sharply. But when he looked at her, she flicked her eyes to the suited men. She had a point. They couldn't alert the entire staff, not when he was so unequipped.

So Kyle kept a hand on his neck and started walking him down the street. They watched the car with Drake inside peel away from the curb, and as soon as they were out of sight of the guards, broke into a run. Damian noticed Kyle hitch her dress up so she had more movement in her legs and he scoffed. She should have prepared better.

But heels and a dress or barefoot in pajamas, there was no way they could keep up with that car. If they were going to successfully carry out this rescue mission, the first thing they needed was transport. And he wasn't old enough--or tall enough--to drive a car. A bike, however, he could do.

He hopped onto the first motor bike parked along the curb. Much to his displeasure, Kyle hopped on it too.

"Scooch up, kid." And she squeezed into the seat right behind him, then leaned forward to fix the wiring. The motorcycle roared to life, and Kyle took the handlebars. Damian couldn't help being disappointed. He'd wanted to drive the bike.

But this way, as they edged closer to the car, and Kyle pulled up alongside it, he was able to jump onto the roof of the car. Almost as soon as he landed, a bullet came up through the roof and missed him by inches. Damian rolled towards the front of the car, where hopefully the driver would be too busy driving to fire a gun. 

He laid down flat against the roof and used his elbow to break the driver's side window. The driver stuck a gun out and fired blindly upwards. Without hesitation, Damian grabbed his hand and snapped his wrist back. The gun clattered to the street and was lost behind them.

The car swerved right and Damian was nearly flung off. He managed to hang onto the edge of the roof and use the momentum of the swerve to swing his body back around, through the back window, feet first into someone's face. The man struck the other side of the car, stunned, and Damian grabbed his gun from him before he could recover.

The man in the front passenger seat whipped around and fired his gun. Damian felt the bullet pass through his shoulder, but he ignored it and immediately fired two shots into the passenger's face, then another into the chest of the man in the back seat. He put the gun just behind the driver's right ear.

"Stop the car," he hissed.

The driver, in a panic, and probably pain from his broken arm, swerved the car onto the curb and slammed on the brakes. He scrambled out the door and took off running down the street. Damian got out of the car and fired the gun after him. The bullet hit the man's knee and he collapsed in the road.

Kyle pulled the bike up alongside Damian and let it idle.

"Good shot," she said.

"I was aiming for his head," he snapped, and started to run. But she grabbed his wrist and held him back. He glowered at her. "He deserves nothing less."

"I know, but he might be able to help us find Dick and Jason. Give me the gun."

He tightened his grip on it. Damian didn't care much for Selina Kyle. She was unpredictable and a frequent frustration to him and Grayson when solving important cases. Grayson insisted she helped more than she hurt, but Damian wasn't convinced.

"Get Tim out of the trunk. I'll deal with this guy."

That was the convincing argument. Reluctantly, he handed the gun to Kyle. She went after the runner, and Damian found the latch for the trunk, next to the driver's seat in the car. The trunk popped open

Damian had never seen Drake look so happy to see him before. And to be honest, he had never felt so relieved to see Drake.

Drake had worked his way out of most of the zipties. He was still loosening the one on his wrists, so Damian finished it off for him.

Drake pulled the gag out of his mouth. "Thanks."

Damian just nodded and stepped back so Drake could climb out of the trunk.

Drake rubbed his wrists and looked over at Selina. "Where're Dick and Jason?" He took his T-shirt off and handed it to Damian.

He took the shirt and pressed it against his wounded shoulder. "She made me leave them," Damian spat. Then he thought better of his attitude. It wasn't entirely Selina's fault. "Grayson told me to go after you. I expect he knew you were the only who couldn't handle yourself." 

"Have you contacted Oracle?"

"N-no." Damian was thrown by Tim's complete lack of banter. 

He knew, the situation was serious, but Drake never just dismissed an insult like that. Was it worse than he realized? Damian tightened his jaw and tried to think about what had happened. 

A relatively standard kidnapping. Overpowered, caught unawares, drugged. He had been confused at first when he woke up to an auction process, and why the woman who clearly knew their identities was not revealing them to the audience. But he knew that sex was a frequent form of exploitation. He wasn't stupid. It was just another kind of torture. He'd been trained to handle torture, and so had the rest of them.

And yet, no matter how he tried to rationalize it in his head, he felt a deep burning in his stomach. His usual rage, but fully lit. Not the simmering coals Grayson could often soothe it into. Tonight it was a full fire, and even though he couldn't rationalize why, he knew the situation was worse than the usual trouble they ran into.

Selina Kyle came back, gun still held in her bloody hands. "Glad you're safe, Tim," she said with a reluctant smile.

"What does he know?" Damian asked quickly.

"Nothing. At least about Dick and Jay." She sighed and looked at her hands in disgust. "Plenty about the guy who bought you," she motioned to Drake. "Wanted to take you out to a truck stop past Smallville. Apparently the business is good out there."

Damian watched Tim's face turn bright red. Rage or embarrassment--he assumed both.

"We need to get off the street before the cops show up. Or worse, your would-be-pimp. What's a good place for Oracle to arrange a pick-up?"

"We're not going anywhere without going back for Grayson," Damian snapped. Tim put a hand on his arm, but Damian shook it off. They couldn't just leave Grayson and Todd like that.

"Damian, we have to," Drake said in an irritatingly conciliatory tone. "We'll go to Oracle, get suited up, and then find Dick and Jason. We can't do much in our pajamas."

"Maybe you can't."

"Your determination is cute. But you boys need to get home first. And you need that shoulder looked at."

There was no point in arguing anymore. Drake and Kyle had taken the mission lead from him and he had to follow along after them as they retreated to a fire escape around the block. He waited impatiently until the best transport Oracle could offer them arrived: Pennyworth in the car.

Kyle took the front seat and Damian climbed into the back behind Drake.

"I'm glad to see the two of you."

Damian accepted Pennyworth's greeting with a curt nod. He was still not happy about going home. Even if it would be nice to put his costume on instead of these flimsy pajamas. And get the bullet out of his shoulder. As long as Pennyworth hurried.

Back at the cave, Gordon greeted both him and Drake with a hug.

"I'm glad you're okay."

She looked like she might've been crying.

But that only angered Damian more. Because it just reminded him that it wasn't over. They had to go back. And he wished people would stop behaving like everything was fine. It was not fine at all. He tried to go for his costume, but Gordon and Pennyworth both held him back.

"Medical checks first, Master Damian. You need that shoulder seen to."

"And I want to put new vitals monitors in."

Damian sat down on the medical table irritably and pulled his pajamas off. He flinched when he moved his right shoulder. Maybe it did need at least an small dose of localized anesthesia, just to ease the pain.

"Where are Cass and Steph?" Drake asked.

"Checking out the place where Selina found you guys," Gordon answered

Kyle came out of the bathroom, blood washed off, and dressed in her catsuit. "I'm heading out. I'll keep an eye out on the streets for your boys, but no promises. Seemed like a lot of these guys weren't from Gotham."

"I'm going too," Damian said quickly, but Pennyworth tsked at him.

"You're not going anywhere with a bullet in your shoulder.

Damian watched Selina leave with gritted teeth and a clenched fist. It wasn't fair.

"They drugged us with something," Drake said. "It's probably gone by now, but a blood sample wouldn't be a bad idea."

Pennyworth jabbed a needle into his arm.

Damian just wanted to scream, "Stop being reasonable," at all of them. Because rescuing his family was the only thing he wanted right now. Everything else was hardly a concern.

"Do you remember any of these men?" Gordon put up seven CCTV-quality images up on the screen.

Drake frowned. "Yeah. They're the ones who dragged us around."

Damian looked the line-up over and mentally cursed his smaller body. He couldn't remember much of anything. Of course, it made sense that the tranquilizer affected him worse than the others. He was physically smaller. But he still didn't like being shown up by Drake.

But there was that one guy--"Wait. That one." He pointed with his good arm to the fair-haired, thirty-ish one. "He was with the auction winners. I heard them talking."

"Derek Everett?" Gordon frowned.

And then his stomach rumbled. He would've ignored it, but he saw the look on Pennyworth's face. It hadn't gone unnoticed. One more delay for the night. It would be dawn by the time he ever got out of here and by then Grayson would be long gone.

"There was a woman who won the auction, too," Drake said. "The one who got Jason. I don't know who she was, but I remember her face. And there was another woman. The woman in charge. Tall. Maybe 5'10''? She was wearing heels so I'm guessing. Dark hair. Dark skin. Maybe Middle Eastern. It wasn't a tan, at least. Could be Indian."

"She was Egyptian," Damian filled in irritably. "That man called her Amunet. That's the Egyptian goddess." Had Drake paid attention to anything?

"Amunet Black? She's Blacksmith?" Drake looked shocked. "But what's she doing up here? Last I heard she was in Iron Gate. What interest would she even have--It doesn't make sense."

"Who the hell is she?" Damian snapped as Pennyworth set a sandwich next to him. He ignored it for a minute, then scarfed it down as quickly as he could. God, he was hungrier than he realized.

"Blacksmith ran the black market in Central and Keystone for a while. She tried to take over the cities," Gordon answered. "She got the Rogues together and almost succeeded until the Flash managed to take her down. I don't know what she's doing in Gotham, or what she wants from you."

"She doesn't seem to want anything. She auctioned us off like paintings." Drake slumped forward and buried his head in his hands. 

Damian tsked in disappointment and gulped down the glass of milk Alfred handed to him. "I'm ready to go."

"One more thing," Barbara said before he could reach his costume. "Still need to chip you."

Damian drummed his fingers against the table impatiently while Barbara sterilized the fresh wound on his wrist, cut the skin back open, slipped the device inside, and bandaged it for him. He dressed quickly while Barbara did the same to Drake.

"Now, can we go?" He crossed his arms.

"Just wait," Gordon sighed. "You're not going back alone. And be careful with your shoulder. Tim, I need you to describe to me everyone you remember that I don't have a picture of."

Damian groaned and felt like punching everyone's face in--including his own.

Finally, once Drake was done and dressed, they were ready to go. Damian didn't wait another minute to see if Drake was even following as he tore out of the cave, red taillight streaking behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work was largely practice for developing the writing voice and character of each bat brat. Critique is encouraged.


	6. Stephanie Brown: The Comforter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steph and Cass are reunited with Tim and Damian.

Stephanie walked through the deserted building. "No, they cleaned out good," she sighed into her communicator.

There were remnants of a party. An abandoned serving table. Flowers still hanging from the bannisters. But no useful evidence. She looked to the upstairs balcony where Cass was investigating.

"Anything up there?"

Cass disappeared into a doorway, then reappeared, nodding. She motioned for Steph to come up. With a nervous breath, Stephanie climbed the stairs.

The upstairs level of the building had a lot of doors. She opened the first one she came to, and discovered a bedroom. It looked unused, as far as she could tell. Perfectly made sheets, a dusty dresser. She shook her head and walked down to the door Cassandra had opened up.

This room was definitely different. There was about two feet of space, then five individual curtains hung from a metal rod that blocked their view of the rest of the room. Cassandra pulled them all to one side and revealed five empty cots, each separated from each other by a curtain.

Stephanie bit down on her lip. "Are there more rooms like this one?"

"Some are different."

"Different good or different bad?"

"Can it be good?"

Stephanie supposed it couldn't, short of finding the boys and finding them alive. She followed Cassandra through the rest of the upstairs rooms.

There were two more rooms like the one Cassandra showed her first. The rest were all different, conducive to what she figured were various sexual fantasies. A water bed in one room, another room with lots of mirrors, even a room with handcuffs, ties, whips, and related objects that toed the fine line between play and torture.

Her and Cass collected various tissue and fluid samples from the rooms. She half-hoped none of them belong to any of the boys. It might put them one step closer to finding them, but she also didn't want to know they'd been here. She desperately hoped they hadn't.

A noise downstairs interrupted their forensic evidence collection. The rushed out to the balcony to see Robin and Red Robin walking in.

Steph didn't bother with the stairs this time. She leaped from the balcony, and used a mid-air turn and a cape flare to increase her air resistance and reduce her falling speed. When she landed, she let her ankles take a minute to absorb the shock, then ran at Tim and Damian, throwing an arm around each and pulling them into a tight hug.

"Oh my god, I'm so glad you're okay." She'd never been happier to see them. Damian tried to wiggle out of her hug, but she held on tighter. She never wanted to let either of them go again.

"It's not like we haven't been kidnapped before," Damian said irritably.

She finally pulled away. "I know but this was...." She wanted to say "different," but that didn't fit.

Tim squeezed her shoulder, "Yeah, I know," and walked upstairs.

Different wasn't a big enough word for what had happened. Getting kidnapped on the job by a psychotic villain was one thing. Getting kidnapped from your home, unawares, identities compromised--different didn't quite cover it.

"I assume you've sufficiently investigated the ground level?" Damian asked.

It was the closest to laughing she'd felt like all day. She missed Damian's arrogance and positively ridiculous vocabulary for a kid. But she couldn't quite laugh. She could barely smile.

"Yes, we did. Did they take you guys upstairs at all?"

"No. At least not while we were conscious. I would assume that's where Blacksmith kept the items in her catalog that she mentioned."

"Oh." Steph wondered for a minute if Damian understood, then figured with a background like his, he probably understood a lot more than a child his age should. "Hey, if you need to talk--" she tried, but he just tutted under his breath and walked upstairs.

Right. That was Damian, no doubt about it. And when she offered her support to Tim, he'd probably hesitate for just a moment before trying to talk about everything with as few words as possible. Well, she'd be there for both of them when they needed it, however they needed it.

She followed them into the last of the bedrooms. The mirror one. This room made her nervous, like she was constantly seeing someone move out of the corner of her eye. So she waited at the door.

"Get anything?"

Cassandra shrugged and tucked a vile into her belt.

"Guess we'll have to see if any of this gets a lead on Dick or Jason."

The four of them stepped out of the room, as if leaving the room might make the thought of Dick or Jason being in that room go away. It really didn't help.

Cassandra leapt off the balcony. Damian followed. Tim hesitated, so Stephanie waited for him.

"Everything okay, Red?" That was a dumb question. Of course everything wasn't okay.

"I keep trying to remember. I know if I could get through the haze, there'd be a clue." He stared out into the ballroom, like a different perspective might help.

"Oracle said you guys were drugged. It's not your fault."

"I'm very aware that someone stuck a needle in my neck and made me helpless for approximately fifteen hours." She watched his hands tighten on the balcony railing. "But I was mostly conscious."

Steph knew how his brow was knitting together beneath his mask. Tim always had this face when he was working out a puzzle. She'd seen it enough to be more than familiar with it. That intense concentration and determination that made him so like Bruce sometimes, in a way that sort of scared her.

"You already gave Oracle descriptions of everyone, right?"

"Yeah. I don't know if it'll help."

"Sure it will. Come on. Let's get back before dawn. Us bats are supposed to be nocturnal." She nudged him with her elbow before leaping off the balcony.

Back at the cave, Alfred had a large breakfast ready for all of them. Part of it was the exhaustion, and part of it was the stress, but Stephanie had not been this hungry in a long time. She ate three eggs, five slices of bacon, a serving of potatoes, and two waffles before she finally felt satisfied.

"You guys should sleep," Barb said, and Steph frowned.

"How can we sleep when Dick and Jay are still out there somewhere?"

"There's not much field work to be done right now. I need to process the DNA samples you brought back and work on the descriptions Tim gave me. You guys should rest."

"And what about you?" Tim asked. "You need sleep at some point too."

"I'm sitting at a desk. My body doesn't need to function at peak performance like yours. I can caffeinate and be fine."

Damian tsked under his breath. None of them moved.

Alfred was the one who ended the argument. "You should all rest. I will see to it that Miss Gordon also sleeps."

Steph huffed irritably, but there was no saying no to Alfred. So she changed out of her uniform with the rest of them and went upstairs to the room Alfred had prepared. One room with four beds. She appreciated him keeping them all together. It felt a little safer that way.

Even though she tried to stay awake, between already hitting hour twenty-four of no sleep and eating a full, heavy breakfast, she couldn't keep her eyes open, and managed to be the first one out.

When she woke up, Damian and Cass were gone. Their beds didn't even look slept in. She looked over to Tim, who was just barely starting to wake up. He didn't look like he'd slept at all.

He still had bags under his eyes and he looked stressed, more than usual. He ran his hands over his face and let out a deep breath.

"Tim--"

He looked at her, and she lost the question she'd been about to ask. Because the answer was written all over his face. He was not okay.

She crawled over to his bed and sat on her knees, hands tucked under her legs. "Want to talk?"

Tim hesitated. He stared at the ground, the sheets, his hands. Anything but her. Finally, he said in a small voice, "It's hard to be that vulnerable."

Steph's face softened. Yeah, she knew what that was like.

"In uniform, you've got gadgets and toys and anything to get you out of a bad situation. And you always know Batman'll be there or someone if you get stuck. Because that's how we are. But--" He paused, and Steph understood.

"We came for you. And I'm sure Dick and Jason know we're looking for them. We'll find them."

"It's just... hard," he finished lamely, and ran a hand through his hair.

"I know."

"I know you know."

They sat quietly for a little bit longer before Tim finally said, "We should find Damian and Cass, see if Barb's got any leads yet."

Steph nodded and got up. "I hope she got some sleep."

"Knowing her? Probably not."

"But knowing Alfred?"

And Tim smiled, the first smile she'd seen on him since before he'd vanished. That was the biggest victory of the day.


	7. Cassandra Cain: The Healer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra and Damian follow up Selina's lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:
> 
> Non-consensual drug use

Cassandra had trouble falling asleep. She sat on her bed and watched Stephanie fall sleep instantly and deeply. She watched Tim lie awake for a while, before eventually falling into a light sleep, with a lot of rolling over. And she watched Damian lie awake, like her. They both had the same problem--too much training for a situation like this.

So Cassandra and Damian were the ones who heard the front door open around noon and got up to see what was happening.

It was Selina Kyle who looked up at them and waved. "Got a lead for you."

They were down in the cave rather quickly. It was just the three of them, though. It seemed Barbara had finally been persuaded to go to bed. None of them wanted to wake her.

Selina typed into the computer. "I looked for leads on Derek Everett but he's been playing this game way too long. I did find, however, this woman. Natasha Knight. One of Star City's wealthy."

"The woman who purchased Todd," Damian said.

"Right. I don't know where she'd take Jason, but her home address is a good place to start investigating."

So Selina, Cass, and Damian dressed in street clothes and each took their own motorcycle out to Star City. It was dusk by the time they arrived at the house.

It was a wealthy manor. Big, wide yard, gated. It reminded Cass a little bit of Wayne Manor, except it looked less like a creepy castle and more like a home from the Antebellum Era of the south. It might have even looked warm and inviting, if it didn't belong to a woman who had kidnapped one of her brothers.

Even though Jason didn't live at the manor and often fought with her and the others, she still thought of him as family. Because she knew Dick thought of him as family. And if Dick said it was family, she believed him. Dick and Tim knew family better than anyone she'd ever met, and she trusted them.

Besides, she genuinely liked Jason. He was actually funny when he wasn't being rude. And she understood the way he cared about the rest of them. Because he didn't need to say anything for her to know how he felt. He was just bad at saying things, and she knew what that was like.

Damian pulled his hood up and Cassandra pulled her scarf up over her face as the three of them cased the house. Security was reasonable, but not impossible for trained professionals like her, Damian, and Selina. They got over the wall, past the security cameras, and into the house through an upstairs window that had been left open. The house itself was empty.

They split up. Damian searched the top floor, Selina searched the middle floor, and Cassandra got the ground floor. They were pretty confident Jason wasn't here, but they needed a clue, something to help figure out where she did take him.

Damian came down empty handed. Then Selina with only a work address and some jewelry she pocketed. And Cass was getting ready to give up as she went through the office. Damian and Selina helped her search it. It was the most likely place to hold a clue. But they couldn't find anything. No addresses, no names, no receipts. This woman was good at covering her tracks.

Then Cassandra saw it. The shift in carpet color. The swooping arc of a lighter shade of beige that was barely noticeable. She inspected the empty wall. She saw no hinges or handles, but when she rapped on it, she heard the echo of empty space behind thin drywall.

Cassandra let Selina take over at that point. The thief would have a better knowledge of secret compartments. It took Selina less than a minute to locate the seam between door and wall, but it was Damian who found the switch--a button beneath a false-bottomed drawer in her locked desk.

The door latch unclicked, and Selina pulled it open. They walked down a short corridor--quickly, because the woman could return at any time--and to their surprise, found Jason at the other end of it.

It was a small room, oppressive, like a prison. He was lying on the floor, hands bound behind his back, a black eye, swollen cheek, bloody nose--possibly tweaked--and bruises all over his abdomen. His thighs covered in scratches, and more red lines streaked his sides. His legs were free, but he didn't appear to have enough wits to attempt an escape. Neither Selina nor Cass were the sort to blush over nudity, but Jason wasn't just naked, he was sweating and visibly aroused. Cass didn't hesitate, and instantly went to his side to untie him. His breath was shallow and he jumped when she turned him over to get at the cuffs on his wrist. His back was covered in bright red welts.

Damian disappeared to search the office for what drug might've been used on him.

Selina knelt down next to them and gently touched his cheek with the back of her hand. "It's just us, Jay. We're going to get you out."

Cass didn't think he could hear them. He didn't seem to be entirely himself. But when she reached to her belt for her evidence kit, he grabbed her wrist.

"I found it," Damian said as he returned. He held out a small bottle.

Selina took the bottle from Damian, opened it, and smelled it. "I doubt she gave him enough to kill him, but this stuff isn't the safest on the market. Though it's definitely the most effective. The tricky part is going to be getting him out of here."

Since they hadn't actually planned to find Jason, an escape route hadn't been a concern before.

Cassandra helped Jason stand, and he leaned against her, head supported only by her shoulder. Every muscle in his body was limp--except for one. Cass tried to keep him upright, tried to give him as much support for proper blood circulation, but he wasn't helping at all. He was useless in this state.

And then he mumbled something between his shallow breaths.

No one quite caught it, but Cassandra felt his weight increase and knew what he was asking for. She carefully let him back down onto the floor. He stayed upright, but leaned against the wall. His hand moved to his groin.

"It's not going to help," Selina chided. "Cass, get him some water. Damian, see if you can find something for him to wear for the ride back."

Cassandra nodded and walked to the kitchen. She'd already found the glasses in her first look through the house. She filled the cup with water from the kitchen faucet and took it back into the secret room. Jason was still trying to relieve the heat in his groin with his palm, but even Cassandra could tell it wasn't making a difference. She held the glass steady for him while he drank.

That seemed to help more than anything else. He licked his lips and managed to calm his breathing, but he still shifted his legs uncomfortably.

"She's at a dinner party." It took him a lot of effort to speak. "She said she was coming back afterwards to--" But he breathed in sharply and didn't finish. He winced and threw his head back against the wall. "Fuck. How do you make it stop?"

"Not until your body metabolizes it out," Selina answered. "Any idea how much she gave you or when?"

Jason shook his head. "Can I--"

But he didn't need to finish. Cassandra was already headed back to the kitchen for a second glass of water. Damian returned when she did, with a complete suit, from the socks to the tie.

Selina emitted disapproval, and Cassandra knew exactly why. She didn't have to ask, but Selina did anyway:

"Are they alive?"

"As if they deserve it," Damian answered and handed the clothes to Jason.

"Damian--"

"I interrogated them for information on Everett, but they were useless. We can get out easily now."

On one hand, Cassandra really didn't blame Damian. Men who participated in the kidnapping and exploitation of other humans had no business living. But she'd spent time with Dick and Bruce, and she respected them. And time with Steph and Tim had helped her understand what second chances were. And when she watched Jason fight, she realized why people needed them.

"I'd've killed the bastards myself, anyway," Jason grunted as he fumbled with the button on the pants.

But at least, when Cassandra looked at Jason, and saw how hurt he was, and she thought about how Dick could still be going through the same thing, she felt like being ruthless.

Jason shrugged his way into the shirt and then the suit jacket--motorcycle rides were not exactly warm--and Cassandra helped him to his feet again.

She let him lean on her shoulder as they walked out, past the bodies of guards and out the front gate, because there was no way they would get Jason over a wall. At least they had the cover of night, however much that helped, as they made their way around the block to their bikes.

Ideally, Jason would ride in front of one of them, so they could keep him steady. Except Jason was six feet tall, and none of the would be able to see over him. So Selina and Damian helped him onto the back of Cass's bike, and secured his wrists around her waist with a loose knot.

He let his head fall into her shoulder and she heard him mumble, "I'll try to hold still."

She didn't understand what he meant, exactly, until they were on their way, She took a sharp turn and felt his body press tight up against her, hot, sweaty, hard, and she could hear his breath hitch over the roar of the engine.

But Cassandra had a bad habit of being practical to the borders of inhuman. It didn't bother her, because she knew it wasn't his fault. If it was Jason, in full control, teasing or flirting, she'd turn so sharply that he'd fly off the back without hesitation. But this wasn't something he planned or wanted, and she didn't blame him for a moment of it.

They arrived back at the cave around midnight and found a very irritated Barbara waiting for them.

"You left without saying anything," was the first thing she snapped, at them.

Cassandra untied Jason and helped him to the medical table, leaving Damian and Selina to do the explaining.

"You were tired, hun," Selina sighed. "You needed the rest. Besides, we had to go in with cells on silent. Give the kids a break."

Cassandra glanced over and watched Barbara's glare and impatience fade into relief.

"Where did you find him? At the house?"

"Yes." Selina stretched her arms over her head and yawned. "My turn for a little cat nap. Call me when you find Dick."

Cassandra helped Jason out of his shirt and began cleaning the cuts on his face and stomach while Damian went to wake Alfred.

"You guys don't know where Dick is yet?" Jason asked.

She shook her head and he swore under his breath.

After a moment, he mumbled, "Thanks for coming to get me."

She nodded and opened up a new disinfectant wipe for the scratches on his side.

"Could I get--"

"More water?"

He smiled when she spoke. It wasn't a big smile, but it was a real smile, and that was more than Jason usually offered. "Yeah. More water."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work was largely practice for developing the writing voice and character of each bat brat. Critique is encouraged.


	8. Jason Todd: The Wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason isn't going to let injuries or emotional trauma keep him from contributing to the ongoing search for Dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really long but you guys kept asking for more comfort so I kept adding more scenes and it just kept getting longer and longer. I hope it's enough.

Jason was already anxious to leave. It had only been four hours, but as soon as that damn aphrodisiac was out of his system, he wanted out of the cave. He was grateful they'd found him, and he was grateful they let him rest, but there were a lot of reasons he didn't like being here. Right now, the biggest one was Barb refusing to let him leave until she chipped him again. Like hell he was letting her track him like a damn dog.

He supposed it had come in handy, but right now, Dick was probably the only one he'd listen to about getting another chip.

And Dick wasn't here. That was the second biggest reason Jason needed to leave. Now that he could think clearly, a fractured rib and a broken nose weren't going to stop him from finding Dick. He had a lot of connections to the criminal underground that Oracle didn't. And anyone who had Dick Grayson, Gotham's Most Eligible Bachelor, couldn't keep that quiet for long.

He raided Dick's closet for a change of clothes. Most everything was too small, but he managed to find a pair pants and a T-shirt that were snug, but livable. Enough to get him back to his apartment where he could change into his own clothes. Which reminded him--he needed to get a new apartment.

Barb had briefed him on what she knew of the situation, and he'd filled her in with what happened to him, as vaguely as possible. Getting taken out of his apartment, tranquilized, kept under until the auction, then fighting with a handful of the guards before he got tranquilized again. After that, he just told her he woke up at a house where he was given an aphrodisiac and left in that room. She didn't press him for details.

Which was great, because she wasn't exactly someone he trusted. And it didn't help that he was coming off from a drug high that increased paranoia. Like that was really something he needed more of.

He stole one of the bike's--probably Dick's since, everyone else was out--and rode back to his apartment without saying anything to Barb or Alfred. He might call it sneaking out, but there was no real sneaking out of Wayne Manor. You only got out if they let you get out.

Once back at his apartment, he suited up quickly, armed himself with everything he could carry, and threw what he couldn't hold into a bag. Then he pulled the building fire alarm, called the fire department, and torched his apartment, in that order.

He left his bag at one of his safehouses and began his search.

Most of Everett's contacts were in prison, and those that weren't were the squealers, who talked to get out of time, so they were easy to interrogate. Some of them had nothing to say. A lot of them said they'd already told everything to Batgirl and Black Bat two days ago. He had to admit, Oracle did her homework well.

All he could get was that Everett had been spotted downtown. Which wasn't super helpful, and he figured everyone else already knew that.

By the time he was done, it was nearing six in the morning and he was exhausted. He hadn't had a real sleep in almost three days now. He'd have to call it quits soon and start again that night. But he couldn't imagine leaving Dick for another twelve hours.

He sat down under a billboard in the heart of downtown and called Oracle.

"This your new cell, Red?" she asked.

"Shut-up." He was always ditching phone numbers. Mostly because he hated when Dick or Barb had a direct line to him. They always asked for stupid stuff. "Did you guys find him yet?"

"We're still looking. Want me to put in a breakfast order at the cave for you?"

"Uh, no. No leads? Nothing?"

"Sorry. I really wish I had more. I sent the girls to interrogate Everett's connections the other day. We scoured his homes and a few higher-end hotels today. We'll try the rest tonight."

"Which ones haven't you checked?"

He could hear it in her sigh: they were a long shot. But she gave him the list anyway.

"Thanks. I'll call you when I find him." When. Not if.

"Wait--Red."

He waited.

"It's okay for you to take a break, you know. Rest. You--you went through a lot, and if you need anything--"

Jason threw the phone off the roof and watched it shatter on the pavement below.

Like hell he needed anything. He was fine. 

His head was throbbing, his side was bleeding, and he was now convinced he had a sprained-possibly-broken wrist that Alfred had missed in the initial medical check-up. But that was all normal for any of them. Injuries came with the job. It was nothing to go crying to the cave about.

Sure, she was probably talking about the psychological trauma of it all, but if he didn't think about it, it didn't affect him, right? He was pretty sure that was how it was supposed to work.

He stood and stretched his legs out. Even those were sore, but he shoved the thought away. He could deal. Dick was priority right now.

He looked down at the street below, gauging the drop and how much line it would need.

And then sheer dumb luck hit. There was no other explanation for it, unless you believed in God, which he definitely didn't.

A car pulled up to the corner at the end of the block, in front of a rundown motel, and fucking Derek Everett stepped out. It took all of Jason's self control not to put a bullet through the man's head right there, but he needed him alive. He needed him to get to Dick.

Jason dropped down the fire escape, dashed across the street, and went into the old dingy motel through a back kitchen door. No wonder the brats hadn't found anything yet, if Everett was using places like this now.

Jason slipped through the small kitchen and into the hallway, just in time to see Everett disappear into an elevator.

He cursed under his breath and darted into the stairwell. He ran up, throwing open every door on his way to the top, listening for the ping of the elevator. He opened the sixth floor door, and there it was. The elevator doors opened and he stayed hidden in the stairwell. He listened to the footsteps walk down the hall, and when they sounded far enough away, he slipped out and watched his target from around the corner.

Everett turned left at the end of the hall. Jason walked as quickly and quietly as he could, but when he made it to the corner, Everett was gone. He cursed under his breath. That gave him seven rooms to check. It could be worse.

At least in a motel like this he could pick locks instead of trying to swipe room keys.

The first two rooms were empty, but obviously rented out. The third room was a man and a woman, dead asleep. The fourth room was empty. And then the fifth room was exactly what he was looking for.

Dick was lying on the bed, bound and gagged, maybe even be unconscious. Everett stood at a table. Jason didn't wait a second to see what the bastard was doing. He pulled his .44 out of his shoulder-holster and fired three shots into Everett's back.

He ran to Dick and pulled the cloth gag from his mouth. He tried not to look at the box of sex toys on the table, the discarded condoms on the floor, the red and white stains on the bed cover, or the bruises on Dick's neck, chest, and hips as he untied his arms. But in avoiding them, they were really all he could think about.

"Hey, Dick--" He gently nudged Dick's shoulder and felt Dick's body tense up, then relax when his eyes opened.

"Oh. Hey." There was just the tiniest bit of a smile that Jason guessed was more relief than actual happiness. 

"'Oh, hey?' That's all you have to say?"

Dick sat up and rubbed his shoulders. "Were you expecting Shakespeare?" he mumbled.

Jason shook his head in disbelief. He hadn't expected to find Dick so... so much like himself. "How do you feel?"

"Like I could eat five Oreo cookie milkshakes and sleep for a week."

Oh. Sure, it was still Dick being his usual dumb self, but Jason related to that statement more than he wanted to admit. He recognized the Bruce-taught "evasion of actual talking about feelings" tactic that they were all so good at, and understood the underlying admission of misery. Yeah, he could relate to that a lot.

He cut off the ties around Dick's ankles. "Can you stand?"

"I suppose we'll find out," he mumbled and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Jason held his hand out for support, but Dick didn't take it. Not at first, anyway. He tried to push himself up, but the minute he stood, his legs gave out and he grabbed Jason's shoulder.

"No--That's not gonna work out." He sank back down on the bed and buried his head in his hands.

"Let me at least get you clothes first, then we'll get you out of here."

Dick nodded without looking up, and Jason went to one of the rented-but-empty rooms. He stole a T-shirt and a pair of jeans that looked about Dick's size from a suitcase. It wasn't really stealing; it was just appropriating for a better purpose.

When he came back, he saw Dick staring at Everett's body.

"Jay--you shouldn't--"

"Don't you dare turn into Bruce on me now." And he threw the shirt at Dick.

Jason didn't care for Dick as Batman much. Didn't like the way that responsibility of Gotham and the team sat on his shoulders. Dick never really grew up, never took on that grief of orphan-hood the way Bruce did. And Jason liked that about Dick, even if he'd never say it. But ever since Dick took up the cowl, it had been different, like being Batman was eating away at the things Jason liked. And that made him more pissed than usual.

But when he offered his arm to Dick again, so Dick had something to hold onto while he pulled the jeans on, his frustration simmered down just a bit. Because now wasn't exactly the time to be pissed at Dick.

So instead of saying something sharp and slightly insulting, he just said, "We'll go out the fire escape."

But as soon as they made it down to the back alley, Dick asked to stop. He leaned against the wall and sat down.

"Can you call Oracle? I'm not--" He rubbed his head. "Sorry, I'm just dizzy."

Jason momentarily regretted throwing his phone off the building. But it was Barb's fault for being condescending.

"I don't--" He sighed. "Let me find a pay phone."

Dick shook his head and pushed himself up, still using the wall for support. "Never mind. Those aren't secure--"

"You're not going to--"

"I'll be fine. It's just--"

"It's fucking daylight. At the rate we're moving--"

"I'm fine. Really." Dick held his arm out to get Jay's support again. But Jay didn't offer it.

"I'll call an ambulance."

"No."

"I'll call Alfred at the house, then."

Dick sighed and sank back down to the ground. He nodded. "Just--be careful. Don't say anything--"

"Yeah, I know. It's not my first time doing this."

Jason stuffed his mask into his pocket, then handed his jacket and his guns to Dick. 

"Use it if someone gets too close," even though they both knew he wouldn't.

Now that he looked like a decent citizen--at least, not like a vigilante loaded with firearms--Jason stepped out of the alley and into the crowded streets of Gotham's morning rush hour. He didn't want to go too far, but there weren't a lot of options. Across the street, and around the corner, then down another block was the closest he could get.

He called the manor. Alfred picked up on the second ring.

"Hey--Alfred, it's me, Jason." He glanced around, made sure there wasn't anyone nearby or listening. "Yeah, I need a ride. I've got uh, a thing, it's too big to carry. Can you send a car? Thanks." And he gave him the motel address.

He walked back to Dick as quickly as he could without attracting attention. He half-expected Dick to be gone when he got back. But he was relieved to find Dick exactly where he left him, leaning against the wall, eyes closed.

"Can you be a bit more alert when I leave you alone?"

"Sorry," he mumbled without opening his eyes.

Jason swore at him, then took his gun and jacket back.

"Hey, are... are Tim and Damian alright?"

Jason kept his eyes on the end of the alley, waiting for Alfred, and making sure no one else came down this way. "They're fine. Selina got them out before... Well, you know what I mean."

There was a pause.

"Are you okay?"

Jason snorted. "I can stand on my own two feet, thanks."

"That's not what I asked."

"Well, then I don't know. Are you okay?"

"No."

Jason was starting to feel anxious again. Damn Dick and damn Barbara and damn Bruce because they made it feel like the bastard was still here and--

He clenched his jaw rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands before turning around to look at Dick. Dick's eyes were open now, and he was looking at him with that damn honest expression that Dick so rarely pulled out. The one that reminded you there was still a nine-year-old kid in there and that kid had been through hell. Because that was so easy to forget when he smiled.

Jason turned away and folded his arms over his chest. He swallowed down every bit of feeling, from the heartache to the hope and said nothing.

"Jason--Thanks for coming to get me."

Jason tried to find some sort of sassy response, but came up empty handed. So instead he muttered, "Sure," and kept his eyes on the street, until Alfred pulled the car up to the curb.

The two of them helped Dick into the backseat. Jason was about to close the door, but Alfred put a hand on his shoulder.

“It would be helpful if you could sit with him and make sure he’s alright.”

Jason clenched his jaw. No. It wouldn’t be helpful. Barbara just wanted to get him back at the cave so she could chip him. He opened his mouth to refuse but he happened to catch Dick out of the corner of his eye.

Dick would never ask for anything, but he knew from that look that Dick didn’t want him to leave either. And it was probably some ridiculous notion that Jason shouldn’t be alone right now as much as he shouldn’t be alone right now. That was a fucking dumb idea and Jason slammed the door shut, just to prove he didn’t need anyone.

As he turned the corner at the end of the street, he started to feel guilty. But what for? It wasn’t like he left Dick alone or anything. There were no more capable hands to leave him in than Alfred's. But when he got back to his safehouse and changed into street clothes, he couldn’t help feeling like he should apologize to Dick. Even if he didn’t know why. But apologies weren’t something he was very good at. He did still have Dick’s bike, though. Returning it was excuse enough.

So he scrounged some loose change out of his bag and picked up an Oreo cookie milkshake on his way back to the cave. No one was there, except Barbara, who looked surprised to see him.

“Forget something?” she asked.

“Just returning the bike,” he muttered. “Where’s Dick? And… everyone else?”

“Dick just went to bed. And so did everyone else.” She yawned.

“You next?”

“No. I’m a little busy trying to get together some of Everett’s contacts since we can’t interrogate Everett himself.”

Jason knew that cold note in her voice was for him, but he wasn’t about to apologize. His only regret was that he couldn’t take his sweet time killing Everett and make the man suffer for the hell he’d put them all through.

So Jason just waved her comment off and headed for the stairs.

"Jay, if--"

"Ja _son_."

"If you want a bed--"

"No." And he made sure to slam the door loud enough to echo all the way back into the cave.

Dick’s room was empty. Jason frowned, not sure where else to look. He walked down the south hall, since he knew Alfred kept a few rooms ready there for emergencies, and he found Damian sitting outside one of the doors.

“Sleeping on the floor now?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Damian quickly got to his feet and glared back at Jason. “I’m not sleeping.”

Ah. “Dick’s in there?”

“He’s asleep. Don’t wake him.”

“Fine. Here, have a milkshake, then.” He handed the drink to Damian.

“Why would I want this?”

“Well, it was for Dick. But--consider it a thank you.” It was the best Jason could do for Damian, really. He sucked at apologies and he sucked worse at thank yous. Maybe he should just buy milkshakes for all of them.

Damian looked at the drink with a frown. “I think a dessert intended for someone else is hardly an equivalent expression of gratitude for what I did for you.”

“You’re a brat, you know that?” Jason snatched the drink back and pushed past Damian into Dick’s room.

“Hey--stop!”

But Jason could already hear in Dick’s breathing that he wasn’t asleep. And Damian must’ve heard it too, because Jason knew if Damian really wanted to stop him, he’d have a second broken wrist by now.

Dick opened his eyes in time to see Jason set the milkshake down on the nightstand.

“You’re a saint,” Dick mumbled and groaned as he sat up.

No one had ever said that to Jason in his life, and he filed it away for later. Maybe to tease Dick, or maybe just because he didn't get too many compliments.

“You should be resting,” Damian scolded.

Dick took a long sip of the milkshake then leaned his head back against the wall. “So should you. How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine.”

“Let me see it.”

“Pennyworth already took care of it.”

“I know.”

Jason was surprised when Damian sighed and obediently took his shirt off and moved closer, so Dick could look at his wound. He was even more surprised when Dick pulled back the bandaging. He didn’t know Damian had been shot. When did that happen?

Dick frowned. “When did Alfred look at this?”

“Two nights ago,” Damian mumbled.

Jason owed the kid way more than a milkshake. Bullet wounds weren’t fun things to work with, he knew, but this kid had put up with it and managed to fight. And in a joint, too. Holy hell.

“Did you know you tore the stitching?”

“Maybe.”

Dick sighed. “Jay, can you grab stuff from downstairs for me?”

“Ja _son_ ,” he snapped back automatically, then sighed and softened his voice. “You rest. I’ll do it.”

“As if I would let you--” Damian tried to protest, but Dick interrupted.

“You don’t have to.”

"You need to sleep."

"I can't."

"Where does Alfred hide the Valium?"

"I already took three."

"Shit." Jason scratched the back of his head and glanced between Dick and Damian. Yeah, he wasn't going to get anywhere near Damian's shoulder. Might as well let Dick do it. "Yeah, okay fine."

"And tell Babs to go to bed."

Jason laughed. Like Barbara would listen to him.

Barbara was exactly where he'd left her, at the computer, but her head was on the desk, out cold. He smirked, and ran through all the things he could do right now.

Hack the computer, steal the batmobile, or even draw a cock on her face.

But she was still a former Batgirl. Jason was willing to bet all her training would kick in the moment he did something. She'd be awake in a split second and ready to choke him to death. So once he had everything Dick needed to stitch Damian back up, he draped a blanket over her shoulders.

He thought he heard her mumble Dick's name--or maybe she just said, "dick"--before she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"You're still here, Jay?"

"It's--yeah, I'm still here. Dick's gonna stitch Damian's shoulder back up, so I'm just getting stuff. Then I'll go."

She adjusted her glasses. "You know, if you do need a place to sleep--"

"I don't."

"You torched your apartment."

"How do you--" Jason sighed. He was tired of asking how Oracle knew anything. "Fine. Only if you go to bed."

"I've got--"

"Dick told me to tell you."

She sighed. "Yeah. Fine." She wheeled herself over to the elevator and Jason followed.

"You know," she said quietly, "this'll be the first time we've all been in the same house."

Jason snorted. Leave it to Barbara to get sentimental about something like that.

"Well, almost all of us, anyway," she added.

And for the first time, Jason admitted to himself that maybe a little bit, maybe a teeny-tiny little bit, he missed Bruce too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading to the end. Your constructive comments have been really helpful to me and I know will make me a better writer in the future. I appreciate everything you have all said and thank you to those of you who left kudos and thanks to those of you who just plain finished reading! The fact that you read the whole thing means a lot.
> 
> I apologize for plot holes and unresolved plots and nonsense plots. This was a character-centric piece, and I really would appreciate criticism on the character voices in each chapter. And, if you have things to say about the plot, say them, because there is still a teeny-tiny chance I'll go into plot details if I ever write the second fic about Dick and Jay.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was largely practice for developing the writing voice and character of each bat brat. Critique is encouraged.


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